


Continued Interference

by TK_DuVeraun



Series: Foreign Disturbance [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: AU, F/M, Original Characters - Freeform, what even
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-19 13:18:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8209960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TK_DuVeraun/pseuds/TK_DuVeraun
Summary: Sequel to Foreign NobilitySquiggles investigates a disturbance at her family's temple in Ferelden and finds an old rival from her homeland, but that is a problem for another day: she must reach Divine Justinia's Conclave to observe on behalf of Starkhaven. She'd only just reached Haven when the sky tore open and Thedas went even more to shit. ---Two non-Inquisitor OCs from a different IP. Game scenes revisited only when critical changes apply. Complete. No Tresspasser.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> No seriously, if you haven't read Foreign Nobility, you have no business here.
> 
> Like FN, large chunks of the story are skipped and you are to assume that they trundle along as they do in game.
> 
> Squiggles's origin IP is blatantly beat across your face at some point in this if you couldn't guess from FN. I'm not gonna lie, there are elements that might seem out of left field that don't get explained in the text because the explanation wouldn't come up, but trust me, there is an explanation for everything. (If I ever write a part for 4, they may come up then).
> 
> Anyway, as before, I'm happy to explain in comments or PMs if it includes spoilers.

Everything was still as they approached Haven. Fiona rode easily with her son seated on the saddle in front of her, Sebastian keeping his horse close on her right side. A ways behind them rode two of their guards. The full entourage would meet them at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, having not detoured to the Kirash family temple.

But between the rulers of Starkhaven and their guards was a most surly woman. She looked motion sick from the rocking movement of the horse and shifted constantly, more than a little saddle-sore. She cursed continuously in Fiona’s native tongue.

“ _ Whatever this disruption is, swearing at it won’t help any, General _ .” Fiona snapped in the same language as they stopped in front of the stables. They were barely more than an elaborate lean-to next to a forge, but their horses were trained well-enough to stay close if one was tied down. She passed her son to Sebastian, who smiled at his wife, completely unable to feel the arcane tension that wound around both women. 

“Varric’s last letter said the Seeker was going to take him to the Chantry here. I’ll go ahead and see if I can free him.” Sebastian carried the tired four year old through the gates while Fiona dismounted and passed her reins to her guard. The silent sentinels were used to Fiona’s strange orders and actions and just took everything at face value now, not even questioning the unexpected woman that had joined them some two days before.

“ _ We can’t waste time here. I know you can feel it, weak as you are, Kirash. _ ” The woman glared down from her borrowed horse. Like Fiona, her hair was bright red and her face lined with sharp tattoos, though they bore a different pattern. She was wearing a set of Fiona’s armor, the august ram leather fitting her nearly as well. The Kirash family temple hadn’t been… quite as empty as expected.

Fiona simply stared at her one-time commanding officer. “ _ You remain astride by effort of your will alone. Whatever the catastrophe, we will have to face it as we are. You’re new to Thedas. Don’t act as if you care when you persist just to spite me. _ ”

The woman, Mage General Nakysa Shuriji, fell off the horse then, though she landed lightly on her feet. While she was significantly less green around the gills, her body was still tensed at the feeling of impending danger. The very air thrummed with magic none of Thedas’s proper mages could feel. “ _ Why you tolerate these barbaric, primeval conditions is beyond me _ .”

Fiona rolled her eyes and started towards the gate. It was more for show than actual protection: made of half-rotted timber and showing gaps between the twisted boards. She switched to the trade tongue, “There will be no ship. There is no rescue. You can accept life here or you can whither.”

Nakysa snorted her distaste, but followed without another word. The packed snow of the path crunched under her borrowed boots as they wound their way towards the Chantry. She looked over the area. It could hardly even be called a village: just a few scant buildings and a smattering of tents. “This had best not be where this world ends. It’s completely indefensible.” Her right hand clenched at her side, though she wore no weapons.

Fiona stopped and turned to look at her. “The disturbance is centered on the Temple of Sacred Ashes, this is merely-”

A deafening boom cut her off. Both women spun their gaze to the sky where a great green tear rent the sky. Wind howled through the village, snapping pennants and loose tent fabric. Then the screaming began.

Nakysa took one breath to calm herself, then stood at her full height, chin held high, and started giving orders. The shocked Inquisition men and women didn’t think; they just responded. Fiona stood at her shoulder, modifying the instructions to match the proper level of technology, though a surprising number of emergency response protocols required no changes.

The two remained the center of a whirlwind of activity that Cullen had to part like waves as he approached.

Cullen cut through the whirlpool of activity like a masterfully manned schooner. “Who are you? What’s going on?” He snapped, harried with fear held tightly in check.

“Knight-Captain,” Fiona said. After she recovered from her shocked recognition, she pointed to the sky where the green tear snapped and crackled with magic. “That’s what’s going on.”

“Princess Vael?” He shook off his confusion with a visible shake of his head. His gauntlet tightened on his sword hilt.  “That’s not-” he made a frustrated sound and then moved to grab Nakysa’s arm, to draw her attention away from ordering  _ his _ men around. “Who is  _ this _ ?”

Fiona stopped him before he could touch her. “Mage General Nakysa Shuriji - she’s one of my countrymen and possibly the best logistics person to have in a crisis like this. Let her work.” She physically dragged Cullen away. “You’re part of this Inquisition that kidnapped Varric?”

“He wasn’t kidnapped-”

“Commander!” One of the scouts interrupted. 

“Report.”

“There are  _ things _ in the valley. They appear to be tears in the Veil. Demons are rushing through.”

“What of the Conclave?”

“Nothing yet, ser.”

“Report to Leliana.” He turned back to Fiona. “Are you behind this?”

“Are you going to smite me again, Knight-Captain?”

Cullen rubbed his face with one hand. “I’m sorry. This is a disaster. The Divine-” He choked. “I knew the talks would fail, but  _ this _ .”

“ _ This _ , indeed. Get your best men together. I’ll go with the scouting party”

 

\---

 

Fiona returned to Haven about an hour before dawn and used her magic to guide her to Sebastian who was in conference with Sister Nightingale, Cullen and two dark haired women she didn’t recognize. Nakysa stood off to the side, breaking off her glare to approach Fiona. “ _ What is this? Demons? Ghouls? _ ”

The others fell silent and watched the conversation.

“ _ The magic here is strange, but this event is unprecedented. _ ” She held out her hand, it hummed with their magic. “ _ Take it. A memory of the ground zero _ .” The sharing of memories was not unheard of, in their empire, but the skill was rare and only performed between trusting parties.

Nakysa hesitated, but took her hand and her eyes were blank for a moment as she processed the memory. “ _ That was no bomb. Can they make that kind of magical explosion here? The magic here is so… weak. _ ”

“ _ It’s complicated _ .” Fiona moved up to the table. “I can’t tell you anything more than what your own scouts have already said. I fished some of your people out of the snow, but no one present during the explosion. I found no more than they did.”

“And the Breach? I assume you examined it with your magic.” Leliana met her eyes.

“Varric,” Fiona snarled before composing herself. She stood tall, her long red braid flung over one shoulder. Churned snow and ashes coated her from the knees down, melting slowly in the relative warmth of the Chantry. “My magic cannot touch the Veil or the Fade. Whatever this Breach is, it’s homegrown.” She met her husband’s eyes and he smiled sadly.

“Next time you tell me to stay home with the babe, I’ll listen.”

One of the dark haired women pushed forward, her Seeker’s breastplate gleaming in the candlelight. “Your timing here is too perfect.”

The other cleared her throat. “My apologies, Princess Vael. I am Josephine Montilyet, Ambassador for the Inquisition and this is Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast. We are perhaps being forward, but I am sure you can understand, given the circumstances.”

Fiona rubbed her temples. “The general arrived the same way I did, some ten years ago. I felt her coming and thought it best to be there. Sebastian didn’t want me traveling to Ferelden alone, so he insisted on joining me and our advisors pressured us into attending the Conclave once we finished with my business. That’s  _ all _ .”

“Then it’s  _ her _ pres-”

“I was in the middle of a  _ real _ war with a death toll in the  _ trillions _ which is a number you don’t even have in this language. I have better things to do that burn a simple temple.” Nakysa said, her voice full of acid and disdain.

Fiona frowned as the room erupted in loud argument and walked over to sit with Sebastian. “Where’s William?”

“Sleeping, thankfully.” He put his arm around his wife’s waist and held her tightly. “How many is a  _ trillion _ ?”

The argument petered out as the native Thedosians leaned in, more interested in  _ that _ answer than in accusing Nakysa.

Fiona held her left hand open and touched her fingers slowly as she spoke, as if counting to herself. “A thousand thousand is a million. A thousand million is a billion. A thousand billion is a trillion. For scale… If we’re being  _ extremely _ generous, there are,  _ perhaps, _ a billion people - of all races combined - in all of Thedas.”

Nakysa pounded her fist on the table. “Thedas is less than a drop in the bucket to me. Don’t waste your time suspecting me when I can assist you.”

Leliana locked eyes with each of her fellows before looking back at Fiona. “Varric made it sound as if you could read a man’s memories.”

“I’m gonna kill that dwarf,” Fiona muttered. “I can, but I’ll need a proper mage if you want the man’s mind intact afterwards.”

Cassandra grabbed her upper arm. “Come. We need you to see the prisoner.”

 

\---

 

“Hey Squiggles,” Varric said before a wave of magical energy crashed into him and sent him sprawling.

“You will address me by my proper title or not at all,  _ dwarf _ ,” Nakysa snarled, her right hand held out menacingly.

“Leave off, Shuriji. He’s a friend of mine,” Fiona said from the elevated level just behind Varric. “ _ And keep your magic to yourself. I told you the danger _ .”

“Oh hey,  _ real _ Squiggles. I didn’t realize your friend looked… just like you.” He groaned and picked himself up off the ground.

Nakysa tilted up her chin and looked down her nose. “ _ I’m not afraid of these barbarians _ .”

“They’ll make your life miserable if you can’t make friends.” She hopped down and stood next to Varric. “And aside from colouring, we don’t look anything alike.”

“You humans all look alike to me.”

“Watch your mouth,” Nakysa snarled.

“Were you this bitchy when you came to Kirkwall? I don’t remember you being this bitchy, but I’m sure Carver would disagree.” Varric kept running his mouth with no sense of self-preservation.

“Shuriji, he’s baiting you. Go tell Cullen how stupid he is, that always makes you feel better.” Fiona stared at the other woman until she walked off, though the general still looked murderous. “Varric, lay off. She’s dealing with a big culture shock right now.”

“So is she a mage that happens to be a general or a general overseeing mages?”

“Both, but the title comes from the former.” Fiona tugged on her braid. “When’s Garrett getting here?”

“Didn’t you hear the Seeker? I don’t know where he is.”

Fiona just stared.

“Fine. Any day now and yes, Blondie’s with him. Kirkwall’s still going to shit, so Carver is staying there to help Aveline.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “This shit is a mess.”

“Good. Sebastian needs to return to Starkhaven, but you know how he is.”

“I do. I know you think religion is stupid, but it’s been good for the men to have him here helping with services.”

“Careful, Varric. Talk too much like that and people will remember you’re Andrastian.”

“Yeah, yeah. What do you think of the Herald?”

Fiona shrugged with a frown. “Not half as suspicious as he should be, but that’s working in our favor - for now. If this goes the way I think it’s going to, Shuriji and I are going to have to give him a crash course in leadership.”

“What’s the deal with her, anyway? No, what’s  _ your _ deal with her? You two are at each other’s throats one second and working together like a well-oiled machine the next.” Varric gave her a critical look.

“Some three hundred years ago, we had a shared ancestor - the one who had the temple built here, actually. I’m from the main line, her family, Shuriji, is the offshoot, but in the last three generations they became more powerful. So, huge rivalry and power shift and before I came here, she was my superior officer, but now…” She turned both hands palm up. “I have to teach her how to live here and since I’m adjusted to the weird magic here, I’m more powerful. For now.”

“...I know you’re not stupid, but it’s been a lot more than three hundred years since the fall of Arlathan.”

Fiona gripped the hilt of her sword. “It’s complicated. Just… Time doesn’t pass at the same rate everywhere.”

“None of this weird shit makes any sense.”

“I have a feeling it’s just going to get weirder.”

 

\---

 

Mahannon Lavellan was small, even for a Dalish. At least he looked like an adult that had just been made on the wrong scale rather than a child. He kept his black hair cropped close to his skull. He was also all but drooling over Fiona’s sword. “Clan Sabrae told us you had a sword from Arlathan, but  _ this _ …”

“As my ancestors told it, it was crafted by June himself at the behest of Elgar’nan,” Fiona said, well aware of the audience she and the Herald had at the Crossroads camp. 

Mahannon gasped in response and nearly pulled his fingers away. “That’s… But… It must have been such an honor. And for a  _ shemlen _ !”

“Shuriji and I are not  _ shemlen _ . We are  _ shirallen _ .” She lifted an eyebrow at Solas when he started, but continued what she was saying. “My people came to Arlathan aboard a ship that traveled through the skies as easily as one might sail across the Waking Sea.”

“So your people are very magical?”

“No, the ship was not magical in the least. Hmm, how to explain. My people have learned to harness many kinds of energy, very little of it magical. As your clan might harness the power of your halla to move your aravels, we’ve harnessed the power of the sun and other things.”

The elf laughed, bright and clear in the night. “But that’s just in stories, you can’t  _ actually _ harness the power of the sun.”

Fiona’s expression turned maudlin. “No, it’s very real. Everyone in my empire has the ability to heat food, water, anything, with simple machines that have no magic and need no magic. I miss it dearly.”

“Why can’t you make those machines here?”

“We don’t know how,” Nakysa interrupted, looking up from her brooding. “And even if we did, we don’t have the tools. You have seen crossbows. Perhaps used one. But could you build one with just wood and rocks? No. That is the position we are in. Besides, there is no home left for us. There was a war and we lost.”

“Yes. For the civilians, life may not change overmuch, but as part of the ruling class, part of the military, death is the best we could hope for.” Fiona sighed. “Things were not so bad last I was there, but I came here ten years ago.”

“With such wonders, I can’t imagine what could destroy your empire,” Solas said with no small hint of bitterness.

“Infighting,” both women said at the same time before trading glares.

Nakysa stiffened and looked back at the sword in her lap that she’d given up on sharpening. “The empire is not gone, nor are its wonders, what is gone is those who once ruled. And we needed to be ousted.”

“Bite your tongue, Shuriji. Would you have us bend over for the…” She eventually gave up trying to find a word and used one from their native language.

“Yes. The only reason I outranked you was that my family was more corrupt. We had the perfect opportunity to start over, but the old guard refused and now it’s all in ashes, as it should have been.”

To Fiona’s annoyance, Mahannon leaned towards the younger woman. “Why are you so certain?”

“It’s obvious.” She glared at Fiona when the other woman opened her mouth. “In our language, there are actually two words for mage. They are functionally translated as ‘good mage’ and ‘evil mage.’”

Fiona rolled her eyes and stood up, walking away from the fire before she could finish, not even bothering to retrieve her sword from Mahannon.

“And we were part of the ruling class of the ‘Evil Mage Empire.’”

“You called yourselves evil?” Solas asked, highly amused.

“Of course not. People like Fiona will argue until they’re blue in the face that it doesn’t mean that, but it does. She’s crying semantics.  _ Perhaps _ blood magic isn’t inherently evil, but it almost always is in practice.”

“So your people were blood mages?”

“No, we have no such thing as blood magic. I was using a relatable example.”

Solas scooted closer to the fire to better listen to Nakysa. He puzzled over her words for a moment before asking. “How can you not have blood magic? Surely someone was foolish enough to cut himself while casting and saw the effect.”

“I know nothing of magical theory. I was a general.” Nakysa replied, now looking down the blade of her sword.

“Squiggles said that magic where they’re from is completely different from here. No demons or spirits or Fade,” Varric said, looking up from where he was writing notes in the dim light.

“How curious. What a shame you don’t know more. Thank you.” Solas said before standing and leaving the camp, as well.

 

\----

 

“Something wrong, Squiggles?” Varric asked. He stood with Fiona and Nakysa a few feet behind the Herald as he spoke with the former Grand Enchanter in the Gull and Lantern Inn. “Well, aside from this mess. You two look spooked.”

“I feel one of our people,” Fiona whispered. “Ten years of nothing, then Shuriji and now…”

“Things are coming to head here. You shouldn’t be surprised, Kirash,” Nakysa said, though her body was just as tense while they waited for this new stranger to reveal himself.

Varric nodded his head at the Grand Enchanter. “Do you think he’s responsible for her memory lapse?”

“No. She’s not been touched by our magic. It would have left traces.” She clenched her hand around her sword hilt as the back door of the tavern opened. 

“Welcome my friends. I apologize for not greeting you earlier.” The Tevinter magister stepped in with a small retinue. 

“Impossible…” Fiona whispered as she eyed the young man in yellow robes matching the magister’s red. “He’s not one of ours, but…” She shook her head.

“Care to explain that?” Varric asked at the same level.

“He- Shuriji, what are you doing?” Fiona snapped, as Nakysa cut in front of the Herald and approached the Tevinters. 

“You’re dying,” Nakysa said to the man in yellow, who just stared back at her with wide eyes.

Conversation stuttered to a surprise halt and the magister cleared his throat. “My son, Felix. He… Has the Blight.”

Nakysa raised her hand and Felix jumped as the magic washed over him.

Fiona surged forward, shouting at Nakysa in their native language. The magister drew his staff and it glowed with energy as he began casting. Mahannon yelled as well, trying to get between the two red headed women and the magister.

“Father, don’t.” Felix grabbed Gereon’s wrist. “I feel  _ better _ . Whatever she did… It helped.”

The magister let the spell dissipate, unformed, but he didn’t lower his staff. The entire room was tense, everyone with hands on their weapons save Nakysa and Fiona.

The Princess of Starkhaven straightened up and gritted her teeth for a moment before saying. “This is Nakysa Shuriji. She is able to sense that your son,” she nodded to Felix, “has a special ability. One that should be preserved. She has… lent him some measure of strength. It is not a cure.”

“And  _ you _ are?” The magister asked, a tight rein on his emotions.

Mahannon pushed forward and separated them. “Let’s sit and start this over.” The tension eased a little as both groups tried to fall back on formality. Mahannon sat at the nearest table, with Cassandra and Varric on either side while Fiona and Nakysa stood behind them. The magister sat across from the Herald and his son sat next to him, flexing his hands and staring at them as if they were new. The former Grand Enchanter stood just behind them, at Alexius’s shoulder.

Stiffly, Cassandra gave formal introductions for their party, while the former Grand Enchanter did the same.

Mahannon cleared his throat. “Please pardon their… eagerness. As Princess Fiona said, they meant no harm. I came to discuss the southern mages and the Breach, but we may need to deal with this first. My understanding is that there is no cure for the Blight.”

The magister tensed up and narrowed his eyes, revealing more than he meant to. Fiona caught it and looked to Nakysa, but the other woman was still staring at Felix. She looked to Varric, who met her eyes and then muttered under his breath. “Up to you, Squiggles.”

She sighed and leaned towards Mahannon. “Herald, it would be best if we cleared the tavern for this.”

Mahannon nodded and addressed Alexius. “Are you amenable to this?”

Alexius considered the Herald and his party for a few moments before he nodded as well. He snapped his fingers and made an imperious gesture and all but the former Grand Enchanter and his son left.

Mahannon did not look up at Fiona, but addressed his question to her. “Would you care to explain further, now?”

“No, but it seems I must.” She frowned. “As I said, Felix possesses a special ability. One I had not seen since coming here.”

“You must be mistaken,” Felix said. “My abilities as a mage have always been minimal.”

Nakysa shook her head. “No. What I did would not have worked if you did not have it.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. There’s no cure for the Blight,” Felix said, his tone tainted with resignation.

“That’s… not precisely true.” Fiona said, unblinking as the magister pressed the full weight of his gaze on her. “I have cured the Blight before.”

“I was once a Grey Warden. I was cured of the Taint, but I have no memory of how,” the former Grand Enchanter said softly.

Hope sparkled in Gereon’s eyes and he grabbed his son’s arm. “Is this true?”

Varric cleared his throat. “I’ve seen Squiggles cure the blight before.”

“Yes,” Fiona agreed. “Carver wasn’t nearly as far along as Felix seems to be. I will have to perform a test to see if it’s even possible.”

Nakysa asked a question in their native language and they snapped back and forth a few times. At length she looked back at the magister. “Pardon me, I was asking her the details.”

Mahannon looked back at her. “And?”

“Yes, I would like to know the details before anyone lays a hand on my son. What can you do that so many others cannot?”

Fiona shifted her weight from foot to foot. “The technique is simple, but it requires a foundation of knowledge and base understanding of certain… processes that mages in Thedas lack. And perhaps this special ability that your son shares with us.”

“How conveniently vague. This is all some kind of trick.”

“Father, please.”

“Fine.” The magister spat the word. “Perform this  _ test _ .”

Fiona removed her gloves and set them on the table. She walked around the table and removed her sword, handing the sheath to Gereon. “So I am unarmed and you have some measure of collateral.”

The magister glared at her, but took the offering.

Fiona moved to stand behind Felix, placing her hands on either side of his head, no touching. “Try to clear your mind. You should feel nothing.” Fiona closed her eyes and exercised her magic, her hands glowing brightly white. Eventually she dropped them. “It should be possible, but the infection is deep. It will take some days to fully remove.”

“And if it doesn’t work?” Gereon snapped, the words clipped and heavily accented.

“Then Shuriji will also die.”

 

\---

 

“You should expect immediate reprisals from the Elder One and the Venatori,” Gereon said after Mahannon finished explaining the agreements he and the magister had come to. “They will not appreciate my change of heart.”

“They knew they were playing with fire,” Leliana said. Her arms were crossed as she looked over the map of Southern Thedas. “Otherwise, this Elder One would have given you more details about his identity and the identities of other Venatori agents. You played along with almost no knowledge because you were desperate.”

“Now isn’t the time for further chiding,” Mahannon quickly interjected before anyone could pile on the magister. “None of us immune to stress. What matters is that we move forward. Commander, what’s the progress on evacuating the civilians from Haven? My understanding is that it’s… tactically a poor location.”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “We’re down to just the most stubborn zealots who came here as a pilgrimage. And Chancellor Roderick. Unfortunately, we don’t have a better staging location for the Temple of Sacred Ashes. We need the mages to seal the Breach, but if we move the troops, they’ll be defenseless.”

“And we need the surgeons and cooks and similar to keep the troops,” the Herald said, completing the thought. “It’s a mess. We just need to seal the Breach as quickly as possible and then move on.”

“But to where?” Josephine asked. “We’re essentially a foreign army in Ferelden and Orlais will be no more welcoming, even if we could arrange for some nobles to lend us use of their lands.”

“The Dales are minimally settled, but full of troops because of the civil war.” Leliana gestured to the map.

“And that’s not the only problem of a divided Orlais. Even if the Venatori aren’t a major power, Tevinter will see the chaos in the South as a prime opportunity to reclaim old territory.” Cullen crossed his arms over his chest. 

Mahannon pushed back from the table. “I believe we all need more time to think on this. And for Sister Nightingale and Lady Montilyet to communicate with their people. We can reconvene after we seal the Breach.” 

The council broke for the evening and the Herald wandered out of the Chantry. He walked aimlessly at first, but eventually found himself in front of what he considered to be Varric’s firepit. The dwarf was deep in an animated conversation with two mages Mahannon didn’t recognize.

“Herald! Have a seat, we were just talking about you. Herald, this is Garrett, better known as Hawke or the Champion of Kirkwall. And this is Anders, the only mage to ever recover from being an abomination.”

“Thanks Varric, you always say the nicest things about me,” Anders said, tone dry.

“And this is the illustrious Herald of Andraste, Mahannon of clan Lavellan.”

Mahannon nodded politely to the two men. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Fiona and Varric have both mentioned you.”

“Squiggles was mostly complaining that you needed to get here quicker so Choir Boy would feel comfortable going back to Starkhaven without her.”

Garrett sighed dramatically. “A hero’s work is never done.”

“Any advice on this whole… hero thing? I’d barely traveled outside of the Dalish before this happened.” He picked at the front of his jacket.

“No one knows what to do any better than you do. If they say they do, they’re lying. Just make decisions you can live with and pretend you know what you’re doing. People work better and fight harder when they think they’re on the winning team. Think of it like thin ice. If you just walk confidently across, you’ll make it, but if you hesitate and pause and think too much about it, the ice is gonna crack and you’ll find yourself twenty miles downstream.”

“That’s surprisingly insightful for you, Garrett.” Anders said.

“He’s been hanging around me too much,” Varric grumbled.

While the other two were sassing, Mahannon leaned into Garrett. “That’s not actually how ice works, is it?”  
  
“Definitely not. That’s gonna get you killed. Don’t do that.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. I'm all out of fucks to give.

Felix Alexius stepped up to Fiona on Skyhold’s battlements. He’d traded in his yellow Venatori robes for a fine dark brown set that looked more like armor than mage robes. His skin had finally lost its jaundiced look, though he was still too pale. “I haven’t really had the chance to thank you.”

Fiona looked over and nodded at him. She wore her standard navy blue and white leathers, but with a thick scarf wrapped around her neck. “You’re welcome. Not that Shuriji left me much choice.”

Felix moved to stand just next to her and looked over the mountains with her. “Still. I spent three years preparing for my death, but now…” He chuckled. “That and this new magic she’s been teaching me, it’s like having a second chance at life.”

“Once we get rid of that  _ Hissrad _ we’ll be able to teach you properly.” She straightened. “Not that there aren’t plenty of basics. I don’t envy you, needing to unlearn everything.”

Felix pulled a coin out of his pocket and held it up to her. It began floating and spinning gently in the still air just above his glove. “It’s so simple like this. Drawing from the Fade was like trying to catch a bar of soap in the bath.”

“Perhaps you are not a mage of that kind at all.”

“No. I have a little of it. Nakysa said she could sense the Fade now.” Felix closed his hand over the coin and turned away as he felt the heat rise to his cheeks.

“Ah. I had thought she wouldn’t tell you about  _ those _ side effects.” Fiona smirked, but was kind enough not to turn to him.

“The, ah, healing made the connection stronger than she intended.”

“So she said,” Fiona said with a snort. “My take is that she didn’t realize how to scale her power properly here and in her eagerness to keep you alive, went a little overboard.”

“I can’t say I’m unhappy about it.”

Fiona buried her nose in the scarf and took a deep inhale. “She needed you. Or someone. I spent the last ten years adjusting to life in Thedas with no one around to spot my missteps. But she has me, a hated rival, watching her every move.”

“You two don’t act much like rivals, from what I’ve seen.”

“It is our families. We were both outcasts in our own ways, determined to be nothing like our forebearers, but that doesn’t erase the animosity towards each other. We understand that we want similar things, but want to hate each other anyway.” Fiona chuckled. “It reminds us of home.”

“Why not… Go back?”

Fiona stood silently for a long time, her head bowed. The light began to fade as dusk came to the Frostbacks. One of Leliana’s crows flew overhead, sent off on a mission. Eventually, she answered him. “Shuriji would tell you in time, but it is not an easy thing to admit. Sebastian is the only one I’ve told. I’m sure you’ve heard talk, whispers, that there is a way to survive death. If you lock away some part of you, once you are killed you can rebuild yourself from that small piece.”

“That’s blood magic.”

“In theory, no. In practice, yes. At least, for you. My ancestor who came here had two sons that warred bitterly. He wanted nothing more than for them to reconcile. That is why he had the temple built. Within it he hid a great prize for each, one that could only be reached through cooperation. He locked away a piece of each son, a piece of their soul that held their virtues tightly. When they cooperated and retrieved these pieces, they would be granted power far greater than they could imagine.”

She laughed, a bitter sound in the cold air. “But that made them worse. It took those virtues from them and they vowed that there would never be peace. For generations our lines warred. Then one child was born who held those locked away virtues. Honour, wisdom, patience… I was murdered for my virtues, but my soul was drawn to that long locked scrap of my ancestor. The magic that had accumulated over the years was enough to restore me. And ten years later, by our reckoning, the same happened to her.”

Felix looked shaken. He shivered, but not from the cold. “So even if not for the war… You’re both dead.”

“Yes. There is no place for us there. We have only what we build here.”

 

\---

 

Steel crashed loudly against steel as Nakysa slashed her practice blade down against Felix’s. He had been given passing training with a courtly rapier, something about duels she didn’t really pay attention to, but he was adapting to proper sword and shield work. She continued to press her advantage, pushing him back across the training grounds.

“I thought you were teaching him some weird foreigner magic,” Krem says from the sidelines.

Nakysa continued through her rotation of strikes, barely winded as she replied. “I know you’re spying for  _ Hissrad _ .”

Krem shrugged, neither confirmed nor denying. “Sometimes they call you the Mage General. I know you’re not teaching him sword work just to give Chief the wrong idea.”

She ignored his comment for a moment, focusing on her attacks and blocks. Felix’s reactions were starting to stutter and slow, so she lowered her shield. “You’re doing better. Good progression for having been bedridden on and off for three years.”

“It wasn’t  _ that _ bad,” Felix said with a grin as he wiped the sweat off his brow. He sheathed his practice sword and then clasped her hand, something more than words passing between them through magic. “I’m going to clean up and bother Dorian. I’ll see you at dinner.”

Nakysa nodded and watched him walk away before turning back to Krem. “Physical fortitude contributes to mental fortitude. Meditation only takes you so far.”

“Makes sense. I gotta say though, there’s something…  _ off _ about your style.”

Nakysa unstrapped the shield from her left arm and stretched the limb out, relishing in the loud crack of her elbow. “Is that so?”

Krem slipped into her earlier stance, though without sword or shield. He mimed a few of her moves. “The shield is a weapon to you, not a shield. You don’t block with it.” He swung his sword arm a few times. “And you’re used to a much lighter weapon, but you’re already using a shortsword. So what? A rapier? A foil? They don’t make sense because you’re used to slashing and heavy attacks.”

Nakysa nodded along to his commentary, her expression intrigued, but not surprised. “Any guesses?”

“The sword the princess has - I’ve seen it cut through stone like butter. Something like that could cut through your shield the same way, so there’s no use trying to block. And it looks fancy and delicate, like a ceremonial piece. Probably lighter than a proper sword.”

“You’re very observant,” Nakysa said with a grin. She rubbed the tattoos on her face, an idle gesture.

“Thank you, ma’am, but I know you’re not really trying to hide it, either.” He raised his eyebrows, but left the question unspoken.

“I don’t loathe the Qun the way Kirash does. She has explained her reasoning, but we disagree on the implications of what she experienced. And I have a soft spot for proper mercenaries.”

Krem laughed. “And we’re proper mercenaries?”

“Of a sort. There was a… culture of mercenaries back home. You Chargers remind me of them.”

“Oh yeah? You should tell us about ‘em some time.”

“Perhaps.”

 

\---

 

Mahannon threw off his blanket in disgust and crawled out of his bedroll. The rain over Crestwood had finally stopped, so he didn’t hesitate to leave his tent. The night sky was clear enough that the stars twinkled brightly overhead and with the dim glow from the banked fire, he had plenty of light to pick his way through the camp.

Anders looked up as the Inquisitor approached, but on recognizing him, turned back to the wilderness he was watching. “Can’t sleep?”

The elf sat down next to Anders on the rotting old tree trunk and also gazed out into the seemingly empty countryside. “Something’s bothering me.”

“As Varric might say, there is a lot of weird shit going on,” Anders said with a chuckle. He shifted his staff on his back. “But I imagine there’s something in particular.”

Mahannon looked at the mage for a moment before taking a deep breath and just going for it. “It’s Blackwall. He was… Really oddly evasive when I asked if he was hearing the Calling. And a few other things. I mean, I know Wardens have secrets, but something just felt off.”

Anders bit his fist to hold back his laugh. When he had control of himself, he patted the Inquisitor on the back. “Good catch. It’s because he’s  _ not _ Warden Blackwall.”

“What?!” Mahannon shouted, before covering his mouth and looking back at the camp bashfully. “Who is he, then?”

Anders shrugged, his pauldrons losing a feather in the process. “No idea. I noticed immediately - Wardens can sense each other. Fiona did, too, and caught me before I went running to Leliana.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “The fact of the matter is that Corypheus can wrench control of me and any other Warden whenever he wants. Fiona is convinced whoever is pretending to be Blackwall is a good man and, well, you could really use a high ranking Warden Corypheus  _ can’t _ control.”

Mahannon bit his tongue as he considered this. Eventually, he nodded. “What do you think happened to Blackwall?”

“Based on his dossier, I’d say he died to darkspawn. Probably while trying to recruit our bearded friend. I know it’s difficult to just take Fiona’s word for it, but I think you should trust him to do the right thing.” Anders gave a sheepish laugh. “I could have saved myself a lot of trouble if I’d started listening to her earlier.”

Mahannon rubbed his chin. “Nah, I think I’ll be fine. She  _ hates _ most of the people in Skyhold and the people she does like I  _ really _ like, so I can trust her.”

Anders had to contain another laugh. “Squiggles? She gets usually gets along with everyone. She’s a  _ noble mage _ and still managed to make friends with Fenris.”

“Well there’s The Iron Bull and all of his people. Madame de Fer. Sera. She hides in her room and pretends she’s away for at least half of the nobles. And there’s Solas and Nakysa, who she avoids, but at least respects. Cole avoids  _ her _ , I think.”

“Huh. I guess you’re right. Anyway, you should keep your eyes open around ‘Blackwall,’ just don’t worry too much. And get some sleep. You’re running yourself ragged.” Anders poked him. “Don’t be worse than Garrett. I’m really good at knocking people out with my magic and I’m not afraid to do it to you.”

Mahannon stood with a quiet laugh. “Alright, alright. Don’t blow up any buildings while I’m sleeping.”

 

\---

 

“Hey Princess. You here to glare and growl at me some more? I’ve gotta say, it’s pretty hot, if not productive.” The Iron Bull said with a rakish grin.

Fiona looked around the training grounds before shaking her head. With two fingers, she beckoned him closer. “There is something we must discuss in private.”

The Qunari set his practice axe on the rack and gestured for her to lead the way. They went up through the keep proper and then through a series of doorways and crumbling stairs until they came out onto a section of the battlements that was only half-repaired.

Fiona stared at him for a moment, expression hard, before she finally spoke. “The general and I find ourselves in agreement.”

The Iron Bull watched her for tells, even though he didn’t expect to find any. When she didn’t elaborate, he said, “Let me guess, something about the possible alliance with the Qun?”

“Yes. You must understand, our empire’s intelligence unit viewed the ruling class, that is to say, Shuriji and I, as the greatest danger to the empire. Not inaccurately, considering our peers, but that meant any measure of spying we needed done we had to do ourselves.”

Bull nodded to show he was listening, though he wasn’t surprised by this information. “I’m sure that contributed to your ability to spot Ben-Hassrath agents. Most people don’t know where to look for spies. The best loyalty tests won’t work if you’re not testing the right people.”

“Shuriji believes, and I agree, that there is no alliance with the Qun. Oh, they have some pittance they will offer if it goes through, but that is not the purpose of this Dreadnaught run. It is a test of your loyalty.”

The Iron Bull snorted. “I’m not going to give up the Qun for the Inquisition no matter how many feisty red heads they’ve got.”

“Don’t be stupid,  _ Hissrad _ . This has nothing to do with the Inquisition and you know that. The only reason you haven’t come to this conclusion is because you are afraid.”

“Princess-”

“Look at yourself through their eyes. You  _ know _ what this is about.” Fiona snapped, her voice slicing through his objection.

Bull started to rub his face, but froze when his fingers touched the edge of his eyepatch. He slowly lowered his hand, staring at his large palm. “Shit.”

“Yes.”

He made a fist and roared. “Shit!”

Fiona offered him a handful of papers. 

“What’s that?” He asked, but his voice was raw and angry.

“Leverage. I’ve been collecting it ever since Krem showed up at Haven, in case you ever decided to turn on us.” She shook the pages. “The contact from the Qun will be part of the test. Someone you know. Someone you won’t want to betray. I won’t pretend I know everyone who matters to you, but I collected information on a fair few.”

Bull took the papers and scanned them quickly, shuffled through the pages of neat writing. “I always thought they were exaggerating when they called you a scary bitch. Can’t you or Shuriji just overpower whatever this test is gonna be?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Shit. They’d just send another test. A lot of people are going to die just to test my loyalty. Shit.” He eyed her. “Why give me your leverage when I might still pick the Qun?”

“Shuriji is sure you will pick the Chargers. And if you don’t… I can still always just kill you.”

  
  


\---

 

“Are you  _ sure  _ you can’t miss the Inquisition business just this once?” Dorian wheedled, very purposefully taking his sweet time with getting dressed again. 

Mahannon rolled his eyes at the mage, arms crossed. “You say that like it  _ would  _ be the first time. Or the second time.”

“I can’t help it. You know what you do to me.” The Tevinter’s eyebrows raised in a suggestive waggle. “With that fancy ‘Inquisitor official’ armor.” 

“You said it was primitive compared to the magisters. ‘Not enough silk,’ I think was your exact quote.”

“I was just trying to rile you up. And it worked, as I recall.” 

Dorian made a grab for the elf, but Mahannon stepped back, clicking his tongue. “None for you. Not until we’ve kept the appointment.”  
  
“Both of us? It’s so  _ cold  _ down there.”  
  
“You could wear furs.” 

“And look  _ Ferelden _ ? I’d rather freeze to death.” The mage gave a long suffering-sigh and reached for his robes. “Why must I come, again?” 

“They said you’d want to see  _ this  _ magic.” 


	3. Open Doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Krem is genre savvy. So is Mahannon. So are Squiggles 1 and 2. Shit.

Felix Alexius stepped up to Fiona on Skyhold’s battlements. He’d traded in his yellow Venatori robes for a fine dark brown set that looked more like armor than mage robes. His skin had finally lost its jaundiced look, though he was still too pale. “I haven’t really had the chance to thank you.”

Fiona looked over and nodded at him. She wore her standard navy blue and white leathers, but with a thick scarf wrapped around her neck. “You’re welcome. Not that Shuriji left me much choice.”

Felix moved to stand just next to her and looked over the mountains with her. “Still. I spent three years preparing for my death, but now…” He chuckled. “That and this new magic she’s been teaching me, it’s like having a second chance at life.”

“Once we get rid of that  _ Hissrad _ we’ll be able to teach you properly.” She straightened. “Not that there aren’t plenty of basics. I don’t envy you, needing to unlearn everything.”

Felix pulled a coin out of his pocket and held it up to her. It began floating and spinning gently in the still air just above his glove. “It’s so simple like this. Drawing from the Fade was like trying to catch a bar of soap in the bath.”

“Perhaps you are not a mage of that kind at all.”

“No. I have a little of it. Nakysa said she could sense the Fade now.” Felix closed his hand over the coin and turned away as he felt the heat rise to his cheeks.

“Ah. I had thought she wouldn’t tell you about  _ those _ side effects.” Fiona smirked, but was kind enough not to turn to him.

“The, ah, healing made the connection stronger than she intended.”

“So she said,” Fiona said with a snort. “My take is that she didn’t realize how to scale her power properly here and in her eagerness to keep you alive, went a little overboard.”

“I can’t say I’m unhappy about it.”

Fiona buried her nose in the scarf and took a deep inhale. “She needed you. Or someone. I spent the last ten years adjusting to life in Thedas with no one around to spot my missteps. But she has me, a hated rival, watching her every move.”

“You two don’t act much like rivals, from what I’ve seen.”

“It is our families. We were both outcasts in our own ways, determined to be nothing like our forebearers, but that doesn’t erase the animosity towards each other. We understand that we want similar things, but want to hate each other anyway.” Fiona chuckled. “It reminds us of home.”

“Why not… Go back?”

Fiona stood silently for a long time, her head bowed. The light began to fade as dusk came to the Frostbacks. One of Leliana’s crows flew overhead, sent off on a mission. Eventually, she answered him. “Shuriji would tell you in time, but it is not an easy thing to admit. Sebastian is the only one I’ve told. I’m sure you’ve heard talk, whispers, that there is a way to survive death. If you lock away some part of you, once you are killed you can rebuild yourself from that small piece.”

“That’s blood magic.”

“In theory, no. In practice, yes. At least, for you. My ancestor who came here had two sons that warred bitterly. He wanted nothing more than for them to reconcile. That is why he had the temple built. Within it he hid a great prize for each, one that could only be reached through cooperation. He locked away a piece of each son, a piece of their soul that held their virtues tightly. When they cooperated and retrieved these pieces, they would be granted power far greater than they could imagine.”

She laughed, a bitter sound in the cold air. “But that made them worse. It took those virtues from them and they vowed that there would never be peace. For generations our lines warred. Then one child was born who held those locked away virtues. Honour, wisdom, patience… I was murdered for my virtues, but my soul was drawn to that long locked scrap of my ancestor. The magic that had accumulated over the years was enough to restore me. And ten years later, by our reckoning, the same happened to her.”

Felix looked shaken. He shivered, but not from the cold. “So even if not for the war… You’re both dead.”

“Yes. There is no place for us there. We have only what we build here.”

 

\---

 

Steel crashed loudly against steel as Nakysa slashed her practice blade down against Felix’s. He had been given passing training with a courtly rapier, something about duels she didn’t really pay attention to, but he was adapting to proper sword and shield work. She continued to press her advantage, pushing him back across the training grounds.

“I thought you were teaching him some weird foreigner magic,” Krem says from the sidelines.

Nakysa continued through her rotation of strikes, barely winded as she replied. “I know you’re spying for  _ Hissrad _ .”

Krem shrugged, neither confirmed nor denying. “Sometimes they call you the Mage General. I know you’re not teaching him sword work just to give Chief the wrong idea.”

She ignored his comment for a moment, focusing on her attacks and blocks. Felix’s reactions were starting to stutter and slow, so she lowered her shield. “You’re doing better. Good progression for having been bedridden on and off for three years.”

“It wasn’t  _ that _ bad,” Felix said with a grin as he wiped the sweat off his brow. He sheathed his practice sword and then clasped her hand, something more than words passing between them through magic. “I’m going to clean up and bother Dorian. I’ll see you at dinner.”

Nakysa nodded and watched him walk away before turning back to Krem. “Physical fortitude contributes to mental fortitude. Meditation only takes you so far.”

“Makes sense. I gotta say though, there’s something…  _ off _ about your style.”

Nakysa unstrapped the shield from her left arm and stretched the limb out, relishing in the loud crack of her elbow. “Is that so?”

Krem slipped into her earlier stance, though without sword or shield. He mimed a few of her moves. “The shield is a weapon to you, not a shield. You don’t block with it.” He swung his sword arm a few times. “And you’re used to a much lighter weapon, but you’re already using a shortsword. So what? A rapier? A foil? They don’t make sense because you’re used to slashing and heavy attacks.”

Nakysa nodded along to his commentary, her expression intrigued, but not surprised. “Any guesses?”

“The sword the princess has - I’ve seen it cut through stone like butter. Something like that could cut through your shield the same way, so there’s no use trying to block. And it looks fancy and delicate, like a ceremonial piece. Probably lighter than a proper sword.”

“You’re very observant,” Nakysa said with a grin. She rubbed the tattoos on her face, an idle gesture.

“Thank you, ma’am, but I know you’re not really trying to hide it, either.” He raised his eyebrows, but left the question unspoken.

“I don’t loathe the Qun the way Kirash does. She has explained her reasoning, but we disagree on the implications of what she experienced. And I have a soft spot for proper mercenaries.”

Krem laughed. “And we’re proper mercenaries?”

“Of a sort. There was a… culture of mercenaries back home. You Chargers remind me of them.”

“Oh yeah? You should tell us about ‘em some time.”

“Perhaps.”

 

\---

 

Mahannon threw off his blanket in disgust and crawled out of his bedroll. The rain over Crestwood had finally stopped, so he didn’t hesitate to leave his tent. The night sky was clear enough that the stars twinkled brightly overhead and with the dim glow from the banked fire, he had plenty of light to pick his way through the camp.

Anders looked up as the Inquisitor approached, but on recognizing him, turned back to the wilderness he was watching. “Can’t sleep?”

The elf sat down next to Anders on the rotting old tree trunk and also gazed out into the seemingly empty countryside. “Something’s bothering me.”

“As Varric might say, there is a lot of weird shit going on,” Anders said with a chuckle. He shifted his staff on his back. “But I imagine there’s something in particular.”

Mahannon looked at the mage for a moment before taking a deep breath and just going for it. “It’s Blackwall. He was… Really oddly evasive when I asked if he was hearing the Calling. And a few other things. I mean, I know Wardens have secrets, but something just felt off.”

Anders bit his fist to hold back his laugh. When he had control of himself, he patted the Inquisitor on the back. “Good catch. It’s because he’s  _ not _ Warden Blackwall.”

“What?!” Mahannon shouted, before covering his mouth and looking back at the camp bashfully. “Who is he, then?”

Anders shrugged, his pauldrons losing a feather in the process. “No idea. I noticed immediately - Wardens can sense each other. Fiona did, too, and caught me before I went running to Leliana.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “The fact of the matter is that Corypheus can wrench control of me and any other Warden whenever he wants. Fiona is convinced whoever is pretending to be Blackwall is a good man and, well, you could really use a high ranking Warden Corypheus  _ can’t _ control.”

Mahannon bit his tongue as he considered this. Eventually, he nodded. “What do you think happened to Blackwall?”

“Based on his dossier, I’d say he died to darkspawn. Probably while trying to recruit our bearded friend. I know it’s difficult to just take Fiona’s word for it, but I think you should trust him to do the right thing.” Anders gave a sheepish laugh. “I could have saved myself a lot of trouble if I’d started listening to her earlier.”

Mahannon rubbed his chin. “Nah, I think I’ll be fine. She  _ hates _ most of the people in Skyhold and the people she does like I  _ really _ like, so I can trust her.”

Anders had to contain another laugh. “Squiggles? She gets usually gets along with everyone. She’s a  _ noble mage _ and still managed to make friends with Fenris.”

“Well there’s The Iron Bull and all of his people. Madame de Fer. Sera. She hides in her room and pretends she’s away for at least half of the nobles. And there’s Solas and Nakysa, who she avoids, but at least respects. Cole avoids  _ her _ , I think.”

“Huh. I guess you’re right. Anyway, you should keep your eyes open around ‘Blackwall,’ just don’t worry too much. And get some sleep. You’re running yourself ragged.” Anders poked him. “Don’t be worse than Garrett. I’m really good at knocking people out with my magic and I’m not afraid to do it to you.”

Mahannon stood with a quiet laugh. “Alright, alright. Don’t blow up any buildings while I’m sleeping.”

 

\---

 

“Hey Princess. You here to glare and growl at me some more? I’ve gotta say, it’s pretty hot, if not productive.” The Iron Bull said with a rakish grin.

Fiona looked around the training grounds before shaking her head. With two fingers, she beckoned him closer. “There is something we must discuss in private.”

The Qunari set his practice axe on the rack and gestured for her to lead the way. They went up through the keep proper and then through a series of doorways and crumbling stairs until they came out onto a section of the battlements that was only half-repaired.

Fiona stared at him for a moment, expression hard, before she finally spoke. “The general and I find ourselves in agreement.”

The Iron Bull watched her for tells, even though he didn’t expect to find any. When she didn’t elaborate, he said, “Let me guess, something about the possible alliance with the Qun?”

“Yes. You must understand, our empire’s intelligence unit viewed the ruling class, that is to say, Shuriji and I, as the greatest danger to the empire. Not inaccurately, considering our peers, but that meant any measure of spying we needed done we had to do ourselves.”

Bull nodded to show he was listening, though he wasn’t surprised by this information. “I’m sure that contributed to your ability to spot Ben-Hassrath agents. Most people don’t know where to look for spies. The best loyalty tests won’t work if you’re not testing the right people.”

“Shuriji believes, and I agree, that there is no alliance with the Qun. Oh, they have some pittance they will offer if it goes through, but that is not the purpose of this Dreadnaught run. It is a test of your loyalty.”

The Iron Bull snorted. “I’m not going to give up the Qun for the Inquisition no matter how many feisty red heads they’ve got.”

“Don’t be stupid,  _ Hissrad _ . This has nothing to do with the Inquisition and you know that. The only reason you haven’t come to this conclusion is because you are afraid.”

“Princess-”

“Look at yourself through their eyes. You  _ know _ what this is about.” Fiona snapped, her voice slicing through his objection.

Bull started to rub his face, but froze when his fingers touched the edge of his eyepatch. He slowly lowered his hand, staring at his large palm. “Shit.”

“Yes.”

He made a fist and roared. “Shit!”

Fiona offered him a handful of papers. 

“What’s that?” He asked, but his voice was raw and angry.

“Leverage. I’ve been collecting it ever since Krem showed up at Haven, in case you ever decided to turn on us.” She shook the pages. “The contact from the Qun will be part of the test. Someone you know. Someone you won’t want to betray. I won’t pretend I know everyone who matters to you, but I collected information on a fair few.”

Bull took the papers and scanned them quickly, shuffled through the pages of neat writing. “I always thought they were exaggerating when they called you a scary bitch. Can’t you or Shuriji just overpower whatever this test is gonna be?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Shit. They’d just send another test. A lot of people are going to die just to test my loyalty. Shit.” He eyed her. “Why give me your leverage when I might still pick the Qun?”

“Shuriji is sure you will pick the Chargers. And if you don’t… I can still always just kill you.”

  
  


\---

 

“Are you  _ sure  _ you can’t miss the Inquisition business just this once?” Dorian wheedled, very purposefully taking his sweet time with getting dressed again. 

Mahannon rolled his eyes at the mage, arms crossed. “You say that like it  _ would  _ be the first time. Or the second time.”

“I can’t help it. You know what you do to me.” The Tevinter’s eyebrows raised in a suggestive waggle. “With that fancy ‘Inquisitor official’ armor.” 

“You said it was primitive compared to the magisters. ‘Not enough silk,’ I think was your exact quote.”

“I was just trying to rile you up. And it worked, as I recall.” 

Dorian made a grab for the elf, but Mahannon stepped back, clicking his tongue. “None for you. Not until we’ve kept the appointment.”

  
“Both of us? It’s so  _ cold  _ down there.”  
  
“You could wear furs.” 

“And look  _ Ferelden _ ? I’d rather freeze to death.” The mage gave a long suffering-sigh and reached for his robes. “Why must I come, again?” 

“They said you’d want to see  _ this  _ magic.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always felt that Bull was willfully ignorant about the Qun's shit test.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So that's your magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My favorite thing is incompetent demons.

Fiona and Shuriji stood on opposite sides of the cavern. They wore complementary sets of cloth armor; both were done up in dark red with silver and bronze highlights and fastenings. Neither wore a sword: they each had only a single, ornate cylinder of metal on their belts.

“Do you even remember how to duel properly after ten years?” Nakysa called out in the Thedas trade tongue.

“Are you  _ afraid _ , Shuriji? Resorting to petty jabs so early.” Fiona replied, her grin edging on feral.

“Your line has been inferior for more than a hundred years. I have nothing to fear.” Nakysa pulled the cylinder from her hip and twisted her wrist in a casual motion. In a flash, a blade of orange fire appeared, but before the crowd could release their collective breath, she leapt at Fiona with a heavy overhead slash.

Fiona blocked it with her own blade of light, holding the hilt with both hands. Lightning crackled between them for a moment before Nakysa was flung back across the cavern. Her blade was pointed down and cut through the stone floor with no resistance. 

The general kicked off of seemingly empty air and launched herself forward at inhuman speed. The blades met again in a thundering crash, but only for a blink, after which Fiona seemed to just appear at Nakysa’s back. The princess threw a handful of purple lightning at her opponent’s back.

The general spun and caught the lightning with her ethereal sword. “Don’t think you tricked me. I know you’re a trakata-using bitch.” She put out her left hand and then jerked it back, as if grabbing something to her.

Fiona’s body jerked forward in response to the motion, but she positioned her sword in front of her, holding it up in a guarded position, as if unbothered by being flung about. Nakysa met the blow head on and they both slid back across the cavern, light blades locked together with a loud hiss of plasma.

Back and forth they danced, trading blows and fistfuls of purple lightning. The stone floor was scared from lightning burns and clean cuts from their blades.

Krem stared, wide-eyed at the display. He elbowed The Iron Bull. “Hey Chief?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad you decided not to make a real enemy out of them.”

“Me too. I thought Princess Red was just paranoid about not wanting her abilities to get out. Can you imagine if the Qun got a hold of those fire swords?”

“I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you.” Krem folded his arms over his chest and continued to watch the spar.

Nearby, Garrett and Varric were also looking on. Garrett rubbed his beard and frowned at his surrogate sister. “Where was this fire sword of hers when the Qunari invaded Kirkwall?”

Varric made a thoughtful sound. “You can’t just call it a fire sword. Every story has  _ fire swords _ , you need something unique. Like… Light-saber. Yeah. We’ll go with that.” He smoothed down his jacket. “And sure these lightsabers are fancy and sharp and magical, but there’s not a lot of glowing. Squiggles usually glows a lot when she uses her magic.”

“They’re both martial users. Their magic makes them move faster and dodge better,” Felix said, having snuck up on them. “Fiona can do her mind scrambling, but Nakysa has mental defenses, so it’s not worth trying in the middle of a spar.”

“They’re teaching you how to do this? You’re going to get a fire sword? I’m her brother.  _ I _ want a fire sword,” Garrett said.

“You’d accidentally cut off your arm if you had one.”

“I’m  _ good _ with swords.”

“No, you’re really not, love,” Anders said.

 

\---

 

Nakysa groaned and whinged and shifted back and forth as she rode pillion behind Krem. Her armor was packed away on some other horse and she wore only thin, light and flowing cloth for the ride through the Western Approach. She had a thin, black scarf wrapped around her head, which did nothing to muffle the complaints.

Krem just found her pain hilarious.

“I will  _ cut you in half _ , Cremisius. And you won’t even feel it. Won’t even know until your top half falls off your bottom half.”

“You know, I’m starting to think you weren’t a very good general, Shuriji.” Krem said, not bothering to hold back his laugh.

“I was a  _ fantastic _ general. I just usually complained to an empty room and blew things up in private.” She threw a fistful of magical lightning at the sand, which instantly turned to glass with a small plume of acrid smoke. “Why doesn’t Kirash have to ride a bloody animal through a bloody desert? I hate deserts. At least Darvannis had proper mercenaries.”

Mahannon, who looked far too chipper astride the giant hart, had no sympathy for her. “Because she went and made herself a Princess. I can’t ask a Princess to tromp through a miserable desert.”

“Perhaps now is a bad time to mention that Minrathous is a great deal warmer than the South. In a general sort of way. This feels just like home,” Felix said. His tan was finally coming back after his long years of illness.

“Perhaps I will not go outdoors once we return,” Nakysa replied, her annoyance obvious enough that Krem started laughing again.

“Be nice, Krem. She’s still got that fire sword. I’d hate to see you cut in half. We have that Warden fellow to meet, after all.” Bull’s voice rumbled.

The group continued to ride over the scorching sands. Wind whipped at their clothes, lodging sand in places it didn’t belong and making the leather of their tack creak and scratch. They set up camp on the leeside of a sand dune and sat around a smokeless fire as night descended. When both moons were in the sky, Stroud approached their camp.

“Inquisitor.”

“Warden Stroud.” Mahannon said, with a nod. He gestured for Stroud to take a seat. He wiggled his fingers. “We’ve been feeling shifts in the Veil all evening.”

Stroud held his scabbard and took an uneasy seat. “It is… Worse than anticipated. It seems the rebel mages weren’t the only ones approached by a Tevinter Magister.”

“Oh, this will be good. I can’t  _ wait _ to hear what my countrymen have been up to this time,” Felix said, dramatically rubbing his hands together.

Nakysa cocked her head and made a strangled sound, but Felix just laughed at her.

“Dorian wasn’t here and  _ someone _ had to say it.”

The Inquisitor bent over as his peals of laughter broke the relative silence. He wiped the tears away from his eyes. The fire crackled and popped and the Inquisition scouts shifted around the edges of the camp, clearly uncertain how to respond. “You’re a treasure, Felix.” He patted the other man on the shoulder.

“I live to serve, Inquisitor. It’s the least I can do to repay you for saving my life. But before we get too far down  _ that _ nug burrow… Warden Stroud, do you have a name to go with this Magister or just an account of his spectacular mustache?”

Nakysa made a disgusted noise worthy of Cassandra, but otherwise didn’t comment.

“I wouldn’t go that far. Erimond was his name.”

“Oh,  _ that _ snivelling wretch,” Felix said. He finally stopped affecting Dorian’s mannerisms. “Unrepentant blood mage. Pathetic social climber. Even with blood magic, he’s barely powerful enough to hold his seat in the Magisterium. Dorian would know more.”

The Warden nodded. “The Warden mages are using a ritual to bind demons. They’re using the Warden warriors as sacrifices, with… mostly willing participants.” He sighed and rubbed his temples. “The mages, at least, seem to be in this Erimond’s thrall, but the others… They’re just convinced it’s the right thing.”

“Zealots,” The Iron Bull grumbled.

“In Death, Sacrifice.”

 

\---

 

Mahannon gasped as he looked around. The sky, if it could be called that, was green and misting. And there seemed to be no “up” or “down.” Islands oriented every which way floating in the endless green nothing.

“You have entered the Fade.” A deep, echoing voice said, emanating from the largest island.

“Justice!” Anders called. He jumped from his island to land next to the glowing spirit. “You  _ did _ make it back! I never really trusted Fiona. She doesn’t like cats, you know.”

“There is no need to lie, Anders. I have watched you all from the Fade.” The spirit nodded its head to Garrett as he came to stand next to Anders. “And so we meet again, Garrett. I am pleased to no longer bear the corruption I did, then.”

Mahannon blinked his large eyes and hopped off his island, but landed on his face as gravity asserted itself over the island with his friends. He picked himself off the ground, such as it was, and walked over to the spirit. Solas stood at his shoulder, seemingly fascinated by the spirit of Justice. 

“Hey, Chief. Let’s join the Inquisition! Good fights for a good cause!” The Iron Bull said in a mocking voice as he got to his feet and stood a good six feet away from Justice.

“That’s not how that conversation went, Chief,” Krem said, trying, poorly, to mask his apprehension.

“I don’t know, Krem. I hear there are demons,” Bull said in his normal voice. He switched back to mocking. “Ah, don’t worry about the demons, Chief! I’m sure we won’t see many!”

“You can’t blame me for not anticipating  _ this _ ,” Krem insisted.

“I can’t believe I listened to you,” the Qunari grumbled under his breath, taking a half-hearted swing at his lieutenant.

“In all of my travels, I have never met a spirit of Justice with any interest in the mortal world,” Solas said. 

“There were extenuating circumstances. Let’s not talk about them. It’s a long story and it makes people want to make me Tranquil.” Anders worried at his earring again. “We need to get out of here and back to Adamant before Fiona decides we’re all dead and takes over.”

“He’s being literal. On both counts,” Garrett said, tightening his grip on his staff.

“Erimond was opening a rift in the main hall. We can probably cross through it.” Felix pointed to the glowing tear in the distance.

“He is right,” Justice intoned. Its voice boomed and seemed to echo inside the helmet of its manifestation. “We are in the lair of a powerful Nightmare. It is the same demon that attacked you after the explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Inquisitor.”

Mahannon strode forward without fear. “Then it’s time I faced it again.”

The others fell into step behind him, their weapons held at the ready, though Mahannon’s bow and dagger both remained untouched. Little wriggling sprites of Fear attacked them in waves, but they were too weak to even be called demons and Mahannon barely slowed his steps as they worked forward.

All at once and from every angle a slithery voice assaulted them. “How unkind of you to bring your friend uninvited to my lair, Inquisitor. What  _ would _ your Keeper say?”

“Do not let it distract you. We must continue with all haste,” Justice said, his armored image unaffected by the Nightmare.

“Ah,  _ Hissrad _ , how do you like my realm? The  _ Viddasala _ might even like hearing about it enough to excuse your failures.”

“Fucking  _ demons _ ,” Bull hissed.

“Listen not to its evil, Inquisitor.” Justice stood at Mahannon’s shoulder and gestured to the glowing swirls of Fade energy left behind by the last wave of Fearlings. “Our foes carried your memories from the Temple. Stolen from you as you fled.”

The Nightmare continued its taunting, as if unbothered by Mahannon’s actions. “There is no cure for the Blight, Felix. Even Nakysa knows you live on borrowed time. Afterall, the name she whispers in her sleep isn’t  _ yours _ .”

Felix scratched at the stubble on his chin. “Does it think I don’t speak with her?”

“Demons understand only the vice they personify.”

The demon rattled off a string of unaccented Tevene. Though Felix startled at it, Krem didn’t bat an eye, he just casually looked up at The Iron Bull and asked, “What a strange thing to say? Who do you think he’s talkin’ about?”

“Yeah, yeah, sass the demon, Krem. That’ll make this  _ all  _ better.” Bull continued to mutter under his breath and jerkily scan around them.

“Solas, Solas, Solas… How long before you run again? Always running. One day it will catch up with you. Your dear friend’s killer is already with you and you too weak for vengeance. How long before you’re struck down?”

Solas’s expression didn’t change any more than his frown deepening, but he didn’t respond to the demon. No one even spared him a curious glance at the demon’s words. It had played itself too obviously.

“My, my, Garrett, what a lovely little family you have now. Already one nephew and another on the way. How unfortunate that your curse for getting your loved ones killed has yet to be dispelled.”

Garrett threw his free arm around Anders’s shoulders. “You know, I want to see this Nightmare come after Merrill. Think she’ll offer it tea?”

“She’d climb Sundermount and make it a daisy chain.” Anders replied, tone light.

The Nightmare roared, the Fade shaking around them from the force of its anger. “No one thinks your jokes are funny, Anders.”

Mahannon gave a low whistle. “Oh, that one sounded like it hurt.”

 

\---

 

Nakysa and Fiona stood adjacent to each other in one of the Winter Palace’s gardens. Each woman held a flute of champagne daintily. Their gowns were identical, save for the colour inversion between the burgundy and silver. The high collars, decorated masks and flowing ribbons made them almost ridiculous enough for the Imperial court. Starkhaven’s stag leapt across Fiona’s mask, the delicate silver filigree reflecting the light in every direction.

“ _ It almost feels like going home, doesn’t it? _ ” Fiona asked in Basic. The two outlanders stood near the caprice fountain, ostensibly to converse where the fountain’s gurgle would disguise their words, but in truth to cause distractions when Mahannon felt the need to scale the lattice and get into the upper rooms.

Nakysa shifted the heavy mass of curls and ribbons that her hair had become over her shoulder. “ _ You’d know better than I. My mother did not parade me around as yours. _ ” Beneath her mask, her eyes were locked on Felix, who was speaking animatedly to Dorian. Both men wore a facsimile of Tevinter Senate robes, done up in Inquisition colours. Not that the Orlesians knew a thing about Tevinter clothing, but they had to  _ look _ like the proper magisters they weren’t.

“ _ You missed out. I cut off a few wandering hands one time. Grandfather was furious. He literally had a stroke. It was a delightful evening _ .” Fiona pretended to sip from her flute.

Cullen approached them with direct and purposeful strides. Poor man had everyone staring and tittering behind their masks.

“Knight-captain.”

“Commander.”

Cullen nodded his head at them both. “Princess. General. Enjoying the masquerade?” He raised a hand to rub the back of his neck, but lowered it with a flinch before making contact. 

“Don’t worry, Commander. We won’t tattle to Lady Montilyet.” Nakysa grinned, but showed far too many teeth for it to come across as anything other than predatory. “Truthfully, this whole affair seems rather quaint. As I’ve said before, the scale of the conflicts here are laughable.”

“You’d not say that if your clan was involved,” Fiona needled. “But that is beside the point. What brings you to our company, Knight-captain?”

“I really wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

“I really wish you hadn’t Smited me nine times in Kirkwall, but I suppose we cannot all have what we want.” She took a sip from her glass and then used it to gesture to the gaggle of young women fanning themselves as they stared at Cullen. “But tonight, I’m sure you could have your choice of whom you wanted.”

Cullen’s expression darkened. “Don’t remind me. It’s unseemly for me to rub the back of my neck, but  _ they _ can beg for details on how it feels to kill a man. I  _ hate _ Orlesians.”

“Oh they work very diligently to be hated,” Fiona quipped. “Our people did such things, as well. It was silly then and it is now.” She sighed wistfully. “I undermined so many minor nobles.”

“Your arrogance is unbecoming,” Nakysa said while she rolled her eyes.

Fiona switched to Basic. “ _ Your face is unbecoming _ .”

“You two bicker like schoolgirls. Honestly, Princess, I would think you able to avoid rising to her bait, being her, uh, being more experienced as you are.” Cullen didn’t cower under their combined glare, but it was a close thing.

The sound of a nightingale's trill cut through the low music pervading the garden. Fiona dumped out the rest of her champagne in the fountain and left the flute on its edge. “It seems we’re wanted in the ballroom.” She stepped past Cullen and strode purposefully towards the vestibule.

Nakysa took Cullen’s arm and they followed at a more sedate, wandering pace. Quietly, she said, “By your reckoning here, ten years passed between Kirash’s arrival and mine. By  _ our _ reckoning, it was only some eighteen months. Time is a funny thing.”

Cullen raised his eyebrows, but knew there was no point in asked for further explanation. He kept strictly to the redhead’s pace, trusting her courtly experience over his eagerness to respond to the signal. If he hadn’t been looking for it, he would have missed the way her free hand brushed against Felix’s and the… whatever passed between them in that moment.

Cheeks flushing, he looked away, though the interaction had already ended. Whatever it was between them, it was intimate. His eyes focused ahead on the princess. A courtier approached her from behind at an angle, his navy blue, silk brocade shining in the low light of the vestibule. A second glitter of reflected light caught Cullen’s eye and he saw the wickedly sharp dirk in the courtier’s hand.

When his muscles tensed for his forward lunge at the assassin, Nakysa tightened her grip on his arm and used her magic to hold him back. She murmured. “She’s fine. Just watch.”

The assassin, surely he was a proper Orlesian bard, raised his arm in a motion that seemed to suit the court, if not for the blade in his hand. Just before it could cut through the delicate fabric of Fiona’s dress, however, he froze, dropping the blade. He clutched at his throat and made a few quiet choking noises before falling to the tile.

Cullen couldn’t decide what chilled him more. That the Princess of Starkhaven had somehow murdered a bard without batting an eyelash or even looking. Or that none of the courtiers surrounding them seemed to care.

 

\---

 

“I must say, Inquisitor, I am still greatly amused by how you handled the Winter Palace. Rarely have I seen, even in all my journeys in the Fade, so grudging an alliance.” Solas’s voice was low as they crept through the Arbor Wilds towards the Temple of Mythal.

“It’s my giant doe-eyes. Silly humans think I have nothing but rainbows and butterflies behind them.” Mahannon drew his bow without pausing in his stride. He drew it back and fired an arrow through the throat of a lone Red Templar patrol within the next two steps, before continuing to speak as if nothing had happened. “Briala has too much personal ambition to be of any  _ real _ use to the People, but it’s better than without her.”

“Please, if you continue talking about how spectacular you are, I simply won’t be able to focus once we arrive at the temple,” Dorian said. It was the first time since they dismounted that he had stopped complaining about the forest, so there was something to that.

“It should not be much further-” Morrigan cut herself off, freezing mid-step and blinking as Nakysa crashed into what seemed to be an invisible wall. “Are you… Quite well?”

Nakysa took a step back, cursing in Basic, and hesitantly reached forward, feeling for the barrier. After a moment, Felix moved next to her, but he was completely unhindered by whatever blocked her path.

Mahannon, after also dodging back and forth across the non-barrier, scratched the back of his head. “Try walking to the end?”

The group followed her for a few yards, but there didn’t seem to be an end to the barrier.

“I imagine it is a protection that spans around the entirety of the temple grounds,” Solas said. He held his staff in one hand and the other glowed a soft green as he reached out with his magic.

“But why would it allow everyone through  _ except _ Nakysa? She’s not even the prettiest one here!” Dorian stood at Solas’s shoulder, as if it would allow him to figure out what the magic told the elf.

“It’s because she is  _ shirallen _ . I  _ may _ be able to convince the wards to allow you access, but we don’t know what lies ahead. Any remaining magic in the temple may also… take exception to your presence.”

Nakysa made a sharp motion. “We don’t have time for this. Corypheus approaches the eluvian. Modify the wards and let us be on our way.”

 

\---

 

Mahannon sat between Dorian and Felix on the wide, stone banister that surrounded the upper platform in the undercroft. Below, Nakysa, Fiona and Dagna stood around a stone table covered with scraps of paper, chunks of metal ore and brightly glowing enchanted stones. He chewed on a hangnail. “Any idea what they’re doing? Mythal said that whatever spell or whatsit she taught Morrigan should let us kill Corypheus.”

Felix ran a hand over his closely cropped hair. “Being able to move your… soul… into a new body when the previous one dies is apparently not uncommon in their home.”

“Rather convenient, that,” Dorian said. He twirled his mustache. “Feeling old and feeble? Just find some nubile, young body to take over.”

“So they’re making some kind of rune to permanently kill Corypheus?”

“Either that or indoor plumbing. That’s the other thing they complain about constantly.”

“Have I ever mentioned how much I  _ adore _ your wife’s priorities?” Dorian laughed at Felix’s blush. “Come now, don’t be coy.”

“Do you think being the Herald of Andraste gives me the authority to officiate marriages?”

Felix gestured down to where Nakysa was clearly glaring at them. “She can hear you, you know.”

Mahannon stood on the railing and put his hands around his mouth. “Hey Nakysa, do you think I have the authority to officiate marriages?” Before he could start laughing, he fell over backwards, knocked back by a burst of her magic. From the floor he looked at his friends’ backs. “Worth it.”

“Now, now, Amatus. We can’t have you getting killed before we deal with Corypheus. The fate of the world is at stake.” Dorian leaned back and offered him a hand.

“I need  _ something _ to keep my head from exploding with nerves. Give me a break.” Mahannon took Dorian’s hand up and then dusted himself off before returning to his seat. Below, the two red heads had started shouting in their native language and waving their arms at each other. The air between them crackled - something that seemed to take all of Dagna’s attention.

“What are they arguing about, now?”

Felix frowned as he listened. “The ritual Fiona is suggesting requires blood as a catalyst, so they’re arguing over whether or not it counts as blood magic.”

Dorian quirked an eyebrow. “Sounds fairly clear to me.”

“Well, they could use animal blood, for one… Hold on, they’re using a lot of words that don’t translate.” A far away look came over Felix’s face for a moment before he focused on the present again. “Fiona is insisting that even the… good mages from their home would allow the ritual, but Nakysa says they only would because they’re ignorant. Uhh, something about evil magic corruption and how the ritual doesn’t cause corruption, so it doesn’t count.”

Mahannon was chewing his cuticle again. “What do you think? Dorian said you were fairly well-read on magical theory.”

“In  _ theory _ , there’s no demon involved, but we have to imagine one would be opportunistic enough to try.” He stood. “I’m going to go get Solas. Hopefully he can shed some light, otherwise they’ll be here all day.”

Dorian leaned back. “Oh, that’ll be fun to watch. Bring snacks!”

 

\---

 

Three months after the defeat of Corypheus, a raven arrives at Skyhold bearing the seal of the Vael family.

_ General- _

_ I just removed five ‘agents of Fen’harel’ from Starkhaven. Take the Inquisitor to the Temple. Show him the holorecordings of the Evanuris. It’s begun. _

_ -Kirash _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Nightmare demon is also something I'm particularly fond of. Sadly, neither of the Sith would be in a position to go into the Fade.
> 
> To Krem, it very rudely talked about how he was a woman and living a lie or similar.
> 
> To Nakysa, it would have reminded her that she got her lover and all of his friends and family killed (the lover being the name mentioned in her sleep as said to Felix).
> 
> To Fiona, it would have said she was useless and weak and had settled for something far below her station.
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> * * *
> 
> I couldn't bring myself to speculate on what's going to happen next in canon.

**Author's Note:**

> I terribly miss the Varric framing device.


End file.
